


Slick n’ Easy

by bewarethesmirk



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: hd_holidays, HP: EWE, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-15
Updated: 2012-05-15
Packaged: 2017-11-05 10:08:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/405230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bewarethesmirk/pseuds/bewarethesmirk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Astoria Malfoy is investigated for opening an underground lubricant business targeted at Muggles (to painful effect), an irate Draco comes to Harry, though Harry doesn't quite know why. What Harry does know is that he’s noticing very odd things about Malfoy. (Who knew Malfoy had such long eyelashes?)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slick n’ Easy

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2009 round of hd_holidays for celandineb. My proverbial hat is off to the mods for their patience with me and making this a great round. Much love and many thanks to lavillanueva, who always supports my writing, challenges me and listens. ♥ Thanks to lavillanueva, melusinahp and marguerite_26 for the speedy betaing and hand-holding. Thanks also to misscake for betaing, as well, and at superhuman speed! Any remaining mistakes are, of course, my own.

"No way."

Harry couldn't have heard Ron properly. 

"That can’t be right," Harry said, surveying the extreme glee upon Ron’s face. "I would have heard about this directly from Kingsley."

Ron grinned and nudged Harry with his shoulder much too enthusiastically. "Just because you’re Head Auror doesn’t mean you learn everything first, mate. And anyway, you were interrogating what’s-his-name."

"Rollins." Harry's lip curled. How could someone forget the name of a wizard who fancied dressing as a clown in Muggle celebrations and kidnapping children?

"Yeah, whatever, mate." Ron’s grin hadn’t faltered. He flung out his arms, as if welcoming a long-lost lover. "Ask me again."

Harry sighed. "Ron—"

" _Harry_."

"Merlin, fine." Harry willed his face into a serious expression, and in his most deadpan voice, asked, "Tell me again: what is Astoria Malfoy being investigated for?"

"For distributing—" Ron was choking off laughter and his ears turned redder at each word, "special quality lubricant to Muggles at an outrageous price."

Astoria Malfoy was rumoured to be very pristine and ladylike—for a Slytherin—so this was very shocking news indeed.

"And Har—Ha—" Ron started laughing this time—no, _guffawing_ —and Harry couldn’t help but give in and laugh, too. Ron was bent in half, huddled over his knees, hugging himself as tears streamed down his cheeks. Once he’d found some semblance of composure, he stood and put both hands on Harry’s shoulders, looking at him solemnly. "And Harry, guess what it’s called?"

"What’s it called?" Harry asked, raising his eyebrows.

Ron drew himself up, rolled his shoulders back and adopted an expression so pretentious that it reminded Harry of Percy. Disturbing, that. " _Slick n' Easy_ ," Ron said, and then grinned as if it were the best thing ever.

Harry snorted, and Ron grinned at him again, and they both dissolved into laughter, earning several glares from several other Aurors wandering past the doorway to Ron’s small office.

Once Harry had caught his breath, he asked Ron, "Why would she bother, though? She married _Malfoy_. He’s loaded."

"Maybe she got bored." Ron shrugged. "It might not have been about the money. I hear that good ol’ Ferret Face has been living in one of his family’s flats rather than at the Manor."

"Huh," Harry said.

"Yeah." Ron reached behind him and nicked a bag of crisps from his desk and started heaving them into his mouth. "’m starved," he said around a mouthful.

Harry grinned. "I’m sure you are. I’ll leave you to it."

"If you say so." Ron’s face lit up once again. "Oh, and guess who _begged_ Kingsley for the case?"

"Do I want to know?" Harry asked with rising dread.

"Might be good to know since it’s your job and all." Ron punched Harry’s shoulder. "Zach Smith."

"Oh great," Harry said, sighing. "He’s going to be more interested in fucking Astoria or using the product than—"

"—doing his job? Yeah." Ron smirked and leant in closer, whispering, "Kingsley told me to tell you that this is Zach's last chance. If he fucks this one up, so to speak, the little bastard is gone. Good fucking riddance, I say." 

Zach has been caught—twice, at that—fucking his last detained suspect in an interrogation room. On top of that, lately he'd been missing work frequently. Most of the Aurors suspected he'd picked up a drug habit.

"Yeah," Harry said. "I’d love to fire him, but Kingsley won’t let me because we need diversity on the team." He laughed. "Zach's only contribution to 'diversity' has been to serve as the departmental broomstick."

Ron grimaced, as if he'd imagined something that caused him great trauma. He shovelled more crisps—salt and vinegar, the label read—into his mouth. "He’s a bastard. Just give it time, and he’ll be out of here. We’ll have a party."

"We will." Harry smiled, relishing the thought. The clock announced in an obnoxiously loud voice that it was 'time to get back to work.'

"I should be off for lunch," he said, and Ron, his mouth full of crisps called out some garbled goodbye.

Harry wandered to his own office, where he didn’t eat lunch, but instead contemplated Astoria Malfoy’s underground lube operation and wondered what Malfoy must think of it, if he knew. And he couldn’t help questioning why Malfoy was living alone and why.

Not that Harry was at all curious. He just hoped the pointy bastard was miserable.

*

When Harry had signed on to become Head Auror last year he'd known it'd be hard work. He had not guessed, however, that it'd be so bloody _monotonous_. Harry attempted to massage the tedium of the paperwork and the incessant Floo calls from his temples, but oddly enough it wasn’t working.

The day was dragging on and on and _on_.

There was a mug of tea at the corner of Harry’s parchment-strewn desk, and he reached for it. Harry sighed and checked his watch to see if it was nearing noon, and of course it wasn’t. Just as he was draining the last unsavoury drops of cold tea, the door to his office was thrown open.

Harry jerked his head up to see who would dare be so presumptuous. 

Draco Malfoy stood in the doorway with his black robes trailing along the floor and his face twisted into a fierce scowl.

For a moment, Harry only sat, with the rim of the mug against his lips and his fingers gone limp around the handle, staring at Malfoy’s pale face. 

And then Harry was out of his chair and round his desk before he’d thought it out. 

"What the hell do you think you’re doing?"

Malfoy sneered and stormed out of the doorway and into Harry’s office. Security should’ve been hot on his trail. It took several wand swipes to get into the MLE, let alone to Harry’s office. The hallway behind Malfoy was quiet, though, except for the usual swarm of owls loaded down with interdepartmental memos.

"I think the real question is what _you’re_ doing in here," Malfoy waved one arm in a smooth motion, "while out there," he pointed toward the door," the Aurors are going to the dogs."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Since when did I ask for your recommendations? If you haven't noticed, Malfoy, we haven't spoken for years."

Malfoy’s cheekbones flushed pink. "Not everyone’s life is defined by the moments in which they don’t speak to the great Harry Potter."

Harry leant his hip against his desk. "I don’t have time for this. What do you want?" He met Malfoy’s gaze, gesturing towards the hall. "And how’d you even get in here?"

Malfoy smirked. "I have my ways." He turned quickly towards the door, his robes flaring out around him, and slipped his wand from up his sleeve.

_Is he really about to try and curse me?_

But no, Malfoy just shut the door with a soft _snick_ and cast an Imperturbable Charm with an exaggerated flourish of his wrist. 

"Don’t you have a job to be at or something?"

"I am here on work, you see." Malfoy waved his hand. "I may not be _Head Auror_ , but I am the liaison between St. Mungo’s and the Ministry, which necessitates a breadth of knowledge on policy, Arithmancy, politics and networking. You know, the kinds of things of which you have no knowledge." Only Malfoy could boast and denigrate Harry’s intelligence in two sentences. "I just stopped in to have a word."

"If you wanted to discuss something with me, you could have made an appointment."

Malfoy sniffed. "Please. Your Aurors didn’t bother to make an appointment before searching the Manor, did they?"

"The report stated that your wife agreed to the search."

Malfoy stepped closer. There were dark smudges under his eyes. When Malfoy sneered, Harry’s gaze fell to his mouth. "That is neither here nor there. The Manor is _my_ family home, and therefore _I_ should have been asked."

"I read Smith's report on the search, Malfoy. It was uneventful. Nothing was found."

"Did you ever consider that maybe, _just maybe_ ," and Harry really wanted to _Silencio_ Malfoy for that nasal whine, "that Zacharias Smith could have…lied?" His eyes widened in mock innocence—a look so absurd on Malfoy’s face that Harry actually laughed.

"I actually wouldn’t be surprised," Harry said, remembering his conversation with Ron. He laughed. "I’ll deal with it."

Faster than Harry would have thought, Malfoy had Harry backed against his desk. The edge of it dug into the small of Harry’s back and he winced.

"Listen, Potter," Malfoy said softly, his breath against Harry’s cheek. He was so close that all Harry could do was stare into his grey eyes. Inanely, he noticed that Malfoy’s eyelashes were very long. "Listen carefully."

 _No, you bastard_ , Harry meant to say, but it came out sounding more like "Fine."

Malfoy’s stare was intense, his voice low. "I suggest you drop this case now. It's been greatly over-exaggerated. Astoria was merely disseminating Muggle products. She was running a _business_ ," he waved his hands about, "and some unfortunate accidents occurred."

"So you admit she’s running a lube operation—" Harry asked, half-disbelieving, barely able to control the laughter seeping into his voice.

"That’s not the fucking point, Potter." Malfoy exhaled deeply. " _The point_ is that it’s looking more and more likely that I'm going to be dragged into this mess, which is my luck whenever you're involved." 

Harry had a million questions on the tip of his tongue, all of them more ridiculous than the next and all equally likely to infuriate Malfoy: Why was Astoria Malfoy, one of the richest women in the country, resorting to selling products to Muggles? Why did Malfoy think _he_ was going to catch the blame when they had no evidence on him? 

"You're talking like this case wasn't a big deal," Harry said, scowling. "Ron showed me our investigation findings this morning, and some of these Muggles went into hospitals with third degree burns to their arseholes. One woman’s tongue was burnt _off_ , and several men’s erections were incinerated. I’ve had to dispatch Healers to deal with them!"

Malfoy was smiling, the bastard. "Father would find this amusing," he paused, "if it wasn’t so embarrassing."

"That’s because your father is a fucked up twat."

Malfoy turned an interesting shade of fuchsia and raised his fist, and Harry blocked the punch easily.

"Fuck." Harry released Malfoy’s fist, shaking his palm out. "Severe injury was caused to dozens of Muggles! It will be viewed by the MLE and the Wizengamot as terrorism."

The space between them got even smaller, and Harry was growing more and more uncomfortable.

"Don’t you think I know that?" Malfoy snarled. He took in several breaths, and suddenly his shoulders slumped, all the fight gone out of him. "I need these charges to be dropped, Potter. I can make sure no-one else gets hurt and can ensure Astoria will put a stop to—this."

Harry shook his head. "That’s not good enough. I can’t make exceptions just for you. I don’t know why you thought threatening me would make me help you."

Malfoy gritted his teeth. "Drop the case, Potter."

"No."

"You will."

"Are you deaf? I said _no_ ," Harry said, and pushed Malfoy with a firm palm to each of his bony shoulders. Malfoy stumbled back.

Harry paused for a moment, stepping away from the desk but keeping his distance from Malfoy. "I’ll put Dean Thomas on the case instead of Smith. Dean’s a fair chap."

"That’s not good enough."

They stared at each other for a long moment, and finally, in a fury, Malfoy stomped over to the door. He promptly whirled around and glared—a glare of deepest loathing. "This isn’t the end of this."

"No, I didn’t think it would be," Harry said, wryly, and returned to his desk. The door slammed.

Harry’s fingers returned to his temples, which throbbed now more than ever.

*

Months ago, Harry had stopped going for a pint after work because invariably someone would pester him: women and men fawned over him, reporters peppered him with questions and offered him bribes and the general public wanted to exchange a word or two.

Now, being twenty-seven years old, he thought people would have grown accustomed to the sight of Harry Potter, but that was apparently too much to hope.

Harry took another sip, carefully not thinking about how it was his first hols without Ginny, and then treated himself to a gulp. For once at least he’d been left in relative peace.

It’d been another excruciatingly stressful week at work. Harry was on his fourth pint.

Everything was blurred around the edges. Through the fogged-up windows a light layer of snow had started to fall. The tavern was crowded but not overly so, and no-one disturbed him at his place at the back of the bar, but then again Muggle pubs did afford him more protection. This place could almost be called cosy.

Then a hand gripped Harry’s shoulder.

Even though Harry was inebriated, he was already seizing his wand from the inside of his coat. He swivelled in his seat to see who the hell thought they could go around groping people’s shoulders, and the fingers tightened. A hint of a breath against the back of Harry’s ear, and whoever was behind him pressed in close. Harry grappled for his wand, found it and cursed himself for choosing a Muggle place, after all. There were no other wizards or witches around.

"Don’t make a scene, Potter," was whispered near his ear. Harry shuddered at the hot breath against his ear.

 _Christ_. Of course. It was Malfoy. If Draco Malfoy had any divine purpose, it was to make Harry's life a living hell.

Harry pushed his wand back into his coat and spun in his seat, freeing himself from the hold Malfoy had on his shoulder.

Malfoy looked different in the low light of the bar. His eyes seemed darker, his hair even paler, and he was wearing Muggle clothing—a black wool coat and black trousers. 

"Potter, if you’d like to stop staring at my trousers, perhaps I’ll explain what I’m doing here."

Harry shook himself out of, well, whatever he’d been doing and glared at Malfoy. "Yeah, please tell me—" he raised his voice so he could be heard above the ruckus of the pub, "why the hell you’re bothering me here of all places." Harry shook his head; he needn’t deal with this shit at all. "Actually, don’t." He turned back to the bar. "Bugger off."

Malfoy snatched for his shoulder again, but this time Harry was ready for him: he caught Malfoy’s wrist deftly in his grip and tightened his hold. 

"Look," Harry said and shifted closer to Malfoy. So that Malfoy could hear him, of course. "I’ve already told you that I can’t help that your wife is being investigated—"

" _Lower your voice_."

"Shut up." Harry’s fingernails dug into the inside of Malfoy’s skinny wrist, maybe a little too roughly. "Like any of these Muggles know who you are or even give a damn."

Malfoy flushed and satisfaction curled low in Harry’s belly. 

"Let go of me," Malfoy said, his gaze on his wrist and Harry’s hand was wrapped around it.

"Will you leave me alone?"

"God, I hate you." Malfoy closed his eyes and exhaled, then opened then again. "I came to say I shouldn’t have barged into your office like that." He spoke the words mechanically, as if they’d been recited in his head over and over or forced by Imperius.

Harry snorted and began to open his mouth to say, _That sounds quite like an apology_ , but Malfoy inched closer, bringing his thighs flush up against Harry’s knees, and Harry tried to lean away, back against the bar, _away_ from Malfoy. But there was nowhere to go. Harry was left pinned between Malfoy’s keen gaze and the bar, rough across his shoulder blades and his fingers. For some reason, his hand was still tight around Malfoy’s wrist.

"As much as you seem to be enjoying my wrist, I’m going to need it back." Malfoy’s lip curled and there was some suggestive nuance there that Harry had never noticed before.

Harry dropped Malfoy’s wrist very quickly, and Malfoy spent a ridiculous amount of time inspecting it, even being enough of a dramatic ponce to hold it to the light. Rubbing his wrist in circles, he looked up at Harry. "You’re going to listen to my offer."

Harry couldn’t bring himself to challenge this claim. 

"I had no involvement in Astoria’s…business pursuits…and I’m willing to testify to this under Veritaserum." Malfoy licked his lips. "I also have additional information that might interest you, should you be smart for once in your life and cooperate." 

Malfoy studied Harry’s face for a long moment and gave a subtle nod of some kind, perhaps to himself. Maybe he'd gone mad. "She’s trying to implicate me in the crime."

Harry digested this. "But she’s your _wife_. Why would she do that?" Harry demanded.

"You are such a Gryffindor." Malfoy tossed his hair back and some of it fell back into his eyes. "I’m not going into any personal details here but, suffice it to say, Astoria and I aren’t close. I have some rather... _delicate_ .information." His eyes gleamed. "She'd have no qualms about trying to pin the whole thing on me."

Harry met Malfoy’s gaze. Malfoy, for all his faults, was a great at Potions, and the lubricant (and other products, the Ministry had discovered) needed to be manufactured somewhere and by someone adept at Potions. "Ah," he said, remembering that Malfoy was rumoured to be living alone now. Sounded like trouble in paradise.

"Your brain does in fact work after all." He smirked in what seemed to be great amusement.

Harry tilted his head. "It’s a horrible crime, but surely the Ministry won’t try to pin it on you, even if Astoria tried to implicate you, though I don't know how or why she's trying to since you won't tell me anything."

His face darkened. "Yes, since I have such a stellar record from the—" Malfoy paused. _War_ , Harry inferred. "Her family was neutral during the war. The Ministry and Wizengamot would automatically find her more believable, and they'd love to finally sink their teeth into the Malfoy assets."

"You don’t know that." Harry licked his lips and reached round to massage his lower back. Bloody uncomfortable stools. "A lot has changed since the war."

Malfoy's sudden laugh startled Harry almost as much as when Malfoy dropped into the seat beside him. For a moment, Malfoy buried his face in his hands, hair falling to shield his face and hands and laughed. It was a hollow, empty kind of laugh.

"Fuck, I need a drink," Malfoy said, and Harry sat, perplexed, as Malfoy flicked his wrist and summoned the busy barkeep down to their end of the bar with an efficiency that made Harry scowl.

Malfoy ordered a scotch neat and twisted to look at Harry’s ale with a look of utmost disdain.

"I like it," Harry said, and took a long gulp to prove it, then promptly felt ridiculous when Malfoy raised his eyebrows.

"I had no idea you cared what I thought, Potter."

"I don’t."

Malfoy, for some reason, laughed again. His cheeks were pink and teeth gleaming, and there was no way Harry was doing _this_ any more tonight. 

"I’m leaving," he said, and stood, then clutched at the bar to steady himself.

Malfoy put down his glass slowly. "No," he said, slowly and with great threat, "you’re not. We have plans to make."

"No, _you_ have plans to make. I have to go home and get some sleep. If you want to meet with me next week in my office, you can owl me." At the twitchy look on Malfoy’s face, Harry elaborated: "To arrange a time and place we both agree on."

Harry stood and forced himself to manoeuvre through the gaggle of laughing drunks without falling flat on his arse. 

Outside, he was barraged by snowflakes, and lifted the hood of his coat, smoothing his fringe across his forehead, only to have it slip down again.

Harry kept turning around, expecting Malfoy to follow him, but the pavement remained empty behind him. Eventually, he Apparated home.

*

"The little ferret did _what_?" Ron yelled, slamming his fist down on the table and causing the cutlery to clank in distaste.

"Ron, if you could refrain from acting like a twelve-year-old, it might be helpful," Hermione said, shooting Ron a glare.

"Fine," Ron said. "But the point is that the ferret followed —"

Hermione cleared her throat loudly, and Harry stifled a laugh against the rim of his wine glass. 

Saturday night dinner at Ron and Hermione’s had become a tradition after they’d been married, even though Ginny no longer came along, which was fine by Harry. Much as he loved Hermione and Ron, they were enough to handle without bringing in Ginny and the requisite awkward tension.

"You ruin all my fun," Ron mumbled, before quaffing half of his glass of Pinot Noir in one go.

"Only the petulant kind," Hermione shot back, but she was smiling. For these two, their squabbling amounted to foreplay, and Harry cut that line of thought off very quickly. 

"The point," Harry picked up, "is that Malfoy is going to extreme risks to prove he’s innocent."

"Well, of course," Hermione said. "There’s the humiliation factor alone. Who would want to be associated with a case like this?" She wrinkled her nose. "Selling heating lubricant to Muggles. _Really_. What was Astoria thinking?"

"Dean intends to find out next week," Ron said. "He’s curious about the motive."

Harry said nothing: but he was, too. On the surface, the purpose seemed like a cheap way to get at some Muggles but, from what his Aurors had learned of Astoria Malfoy, that was not in keeping with her personality. The only other option was financial gain, which didn’t make sense, either. Astoria was a rather untalented witch, Harry had taken to understand, the sort who stayed at home and went to fancy dinner parties and had children, but she was wed to a very rich family. Was she doing the whole thing _just_ to blame it on Malfoy? That'd be stupid.

"My money is on Malfoy being behind the whole thing," Ron said.

Instead of castigating him as Harry expected, Hermione stayed quiet, her eyebrows furrowed and teeth biting into her bottom lip. Harry wondered what she was contemplating. He sliced and bit into the last portion of his salmon.

"Still, Harry," Ron said, after he’d polished off all his food, "I would go to Kingsley about Malfoy."

Harry put down his fork. "I don’t think I need to yet—"

"But Harry! He might have it in for you."

"He’s left Harry alone since the war," Hermione cut in.

"I don’t give a shit. That little bugger is dangerous," Ron said. "Following Harry about like that."

"Yeah, because Harry never followed _Draco_." Hermione rolled her eyes, but there was a slight curl to her smile that Harry didn’t like at all.

He was starting to regret even telling them about Malfoy to begin with. Harry wanted to handle this on his own. 

"I told Malfoy to make an appointment with me if he needs anything else," Harry said. "I’m sure he won’t be bothering me again till Monday anyway."

"You certain about that, mate?" Ron asked, eyebrows raised.

"Absolutely," Harry said, with a small smile.

*

Harry groaned as he was pulled from sleep by the very familiar sound of an owl clawing against glass. He stretched under his blankets, before glancing at the window.

Then he noted it was still dark. Whoever was sending him owls before dawn was going to be cursed.

Harry fumbled for his glasses on the bedside table and shuffled over to the window, stopping short when he glimpsed the owl on the ledge. For a moment, he thought he was seeing a ghost: the owl was large and snowy, with huge amber eyes.

_Get it together, Potter._

He opened his window and the chilly early morning air rose gooseflesh on his naked arms.

The owl made a small chirping sound, possibly peevish for having been left on the windowsill for so long, and then landed on Harry’s shoulder. Harry winced, expecting to feel sharp claws piercing his bare shoulder, but it seemed the owl was taking care with him. It nuzzled at his hair, and Harry laughed despite himself.

The owl extended its leg, and there was a scroll of parchment tied to it. Harry untied it and unfurled the parchment, stepping closer to the window so that the moonlight illuminated the words:

> _Potter,_

> _Rise and shine. Head Aurors should already be up and about, what with all the justice to uphold. You could stand to keep a better eye on your own Aurors._

> _It is urgent that I meet with you Monday afternoon to be questioned under Veritaserum. This should give you time to get everything squared away with the Minister or to create a ruse, if necessary._

> _By return owl, inform me where I can enter undetected and to where I should report. Remember, Potter: I am requesting this to be only you and me. If you bring anyone else, the deal is off._

> _DM_

Harry rolled his eyes. _Rise and shine_? "Malfoy’s begging to be hexed," he mumbled.

The owl scratched its claws across Harry’s shoulder in warning, and Harry turned his head to see the owl in question staring him down.

"All right, all right, I won’t say anything else about your bastard of a—ouch! Your master."

Harry wandered over to his writing desk with Malfoy’s owl perched on his shoulder and scrawled a brief response.

"Take this back," Harry said, folding the parchment and securing to the owl’s leg. It bit his ear softly and swept out into the dark. Harry was left to sit at his small desk, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, with a frigid draft gusting in from the open window. 

There was no way he was going to get any sleep. Harry needed to plan and try to figure out how he was going to get this cleared by Kingsley—or how to get around Kingsley. Malfoy was unfortunately right: the Ministry had reason to distrust him.

 _You could be walking into a trap_ , a voice sounding remarkably like Hermione reminded him.

 _Malfoy could have it in for you, mate_. Ron.

Harry pushed them all away. Malfoy had been well-behaved and quiet since the end of the war. Why would he want to ruin his entire reputation now? It seemed like the very thing he was trying to protect.

Plus, if Malfoy was up to something nefarious, Harry knew he could hold his own.

*

"So you promise I didn’t fuck up anything?" Dean asked.

Harry almost winced at the wariness in his tone. "No, it’s nothing like that." With a quick glance over his shoulder to double check that the hall was clear, he said in a low voice, "Draco Malfoy has agreed to be questioned under Veritaserum."

Dean’s jaw fell and he gaped like a fish. 

"Yeah," Harry said, not willing to share any more information than was strictly necessary. "I’m interrogating him this afternoon, and it should be enough to determine whether or not he was involved. He might be willing," Harry added, on a hunch, "to tell us about Astoria’s activities and anything else he knows. Though only to save his own skin."

Dean was still gaping and seemed to be trying to pull himself together. "But, um, Harry," he said. "Don’t murder me for saying this, mate. I—I know that you and Malfoy have had messy dealings."

The way he said it made Harry feel acutely uncomfortable. Harry waved a hand for Dean to continue.

"Um, but don’t you think it’d be better if, maybe, I interrogated him?" Harry had already opened his mouth to speak, so Dean marched on. Harry was _not_ accustomed to being questioned often. "I know you’re great at interrogation, Harry, but you and Malfoy had a complicated history with the war and all—and he didn’t bully me as much during school."

Anger stirred in Harry’s gut. How many Death Eaters had he interrogated that he had _complicated histories_ with? That had either tried to kill him or kill his parents? 

Dean must have recognised the anger on Harry’s face for what it was because he said, "Nevermind. Maybe having Malfoy as your enemy for so long will give you an advantage."

Harry looked away to the football posters lining Dean’s side of the office, as if that would help him to escape Dean’s dejected tone. "That’s what I’m banking on," Harry said, but knowing that if he was going to interrogate Malfoy successfully he was going to need to conquer his temper, which only showed its face on rare occasions these days. Anytime Malfoy was involved, however, that fucked with all the variables.

"Thanks for this, mate," Harry said, meeting Dean’s eyes, and Dean smiled. Harry knew Dean understood: this was something that Harry had to do alone. "I’ll make it up to you," Harry promised.

Dean nodded. "I know."

There was a knock on the door and then someone brusquely entered, and Harry shut his eyes in defeat. _Fuck_. Only two people barged into rooms without waiting for a reply (well, excepting Malfoy), and they were Smith and Kingsley. Harry really wanted to avoid Kingsley, but wouldn’t mind avoiding Smith, too, since he was probably going to be sacked that morning and would probably try to find some way to blame Harry.

Naturally, when Harry turned, it was _both_ Kingsley and Zacharias Smith.

 _No one should be forced to deal with Zacharias_ and _Malfoy on the same day_ , Harry thought.

"Kingsley," Harry greeted with a nod and looked at Zach with a slight smirk. "Zach."

Zach's face was flushed in righteous anger, and Harry was reminded of the way Malfoy’s face suffused pink when angry or embarrassed but _he_ managed to look reined in and still very much the bastard Harry had always known. Zach just looked pathetic.

 _Stop_.

"I want to know why I'm getting sacked, Potter," Zach said, enraged, looking down his nose at Harry. "I want to know what you told the Minister. I know you lied." His lip curled. "Or _someone_ has been lying to you."

"Smith," Kingsley said and his voice was so deep and heavy with warning, no one dared to interrupt. "Mind your tongue." Kingsley drew himself up to his full height and looked to Harry. "It's true that I have terminated Smith's position with us. He is demanding an explanation. I'm deigning to let you speak to the reasoning, Harry, since this concerns your office." 

"Uh," Harry said, not expecting this turn of events, but it was with long-awaited anticipation that he rose from his seat. He was pleased that he had an inch or two on Zach. "I was informed that you entered the Malfoy residence without a warrant, which you _should_ know," Harry glared, "is strictly out of line. You were already on your last leg after the interrogation room incident and not showing up to work."

"So you’re just going to believe your little insider?" Zach asked, a snarl entering his voice. "He probably just wanted a little _something_ in return." 

Harry didn’t miss the double entendre or the ‘he.' 

"I checked with the Aurors that accompanied you that night," he pressed on, "and all of them—yes, _all_ of them, validated my source’s information this morning, so I sent the information on to the Minister. This was after you were told you were going to be granted one more chance," Harry said, left it dangling, "wasn’t it?"

Zach went pale except for the splotches on his cheeks, and his fingers were clutching at the fabric of his Auror robes. The most telling thing, though, was his complete lack of an answer.

That was it, then. The glorious end was nigh.

"You give me no choice, Smith, but to fire you." He calmed his voice. "But your service has been appreciated. I wish you well," Harry said and extended his hand.

Zach stared at it for a long time—and the silence built—and Harry was aware of Dean and Kingsley watching with much interest.

For a moment, Harry thought Zach was actually going to shake his hand—he had taken a small step forward, had started to lift his hand...

_Maybe the bastard does have some dignity, after all._

And then Zach leant forward and spat—fucking _spat_ —on Harry’s palm. "Fuck you, Potter," he said, before turning and leaving the office. 

Harry stared down at his palm in disgust before someone was standing beside him, trying to take his hand.

"Let me help you with that," Dean said and cast a strong _Scourgify_.

Harry smiled. "Thanks." Zach was an utter bastard—he didn’t know why he was shocked, but still he had hoped. 

"Poor kid," Kingsley said, shaking his head. "He’s got a lot of growing up to do."

"Ron’s going to be thrilled," Harry said, before he could think better of it, but was relieved when both Kingsley and Dean chuckled.

"Potter, why did you send me an owl about Smith?" Kingsley asked, and Harry cursed himself for forgetting he wasn’t off the hook quite yet. "You should have come by."

"Percy said you were to be in meetings all morning," Harry took a fortifying gulp of air and then plunged on, "and I needed to speak with Dean about taking over the Astoria Malfoy case."

In the end he’d decided he was Head Auror and there was no reason to sneak about the Ministry in order to interrogate Malfoy. What if they were found out and it compromised the whole investigation?

Kingsley raised another eyebrow, which was his favourite and oft-overused way of expressing himself.

"I found out something new from Mal—Draco," Harry said.

If Kingsley had a third eyebrow, he would certainly be raising that, too.

 

Kingsley held up his hand to pre-empt Harry’s babbling. "I don’t want to know, Potter. If it were anyone else then I would be asking for some explanations, but I trust you. Don’t prove that it’s misplaced."

"Er. Yes, sir," Harry said. He rubbed his still-damp palms against his robes and glanced at the clock. It was getting late, and Harry really needed to get things ready sharpish. 

"I have to be going," he said.

"Okay. Don’t work too hard," Dean said, a touch wry. 

"Of course not," Harry said and let himself out.

In the hallway, Kingsley was leaning against the wall while owls whizzed past him. An owl dropped a letter on Harry’s head and he stooped to pick it up. 

"Potter," Kingsley said

"Yeah?"

Kingsley moved away from the wall. "Whatever you’re doing with Malfoy, don’t tell anyone else beforehand. If Weasley finds out, he'll lose his temper, and it'll be hell for the rest of us."

*

It was supremely embarrassing to find Malfoy already waiting for him at the entrance to the interrogation room. It was fifteen minutes before they were due to meet. What kind of bastard got there that early?

Malfoy was wearing light grey robes that weren’t exactly unflattering. 

He certainly didn’t look as if he was about to kill Harry, but there were certain precautions Harry was going to take anyway. 

No-one knew exactly where Harry was in case the event they needed to come for his body.

"Stop looking at me as if I’m here to off you," Draco said, and Harry jumped. He hadn’t even realised he’d stopped to stare. "If I wanted to kill you, I’d have done it somewhere less discreet than the Ministry. I am smarter than the Dark—Vol— _him_."

" _Voldemort_ ," Harry spat, and slid past Malfoy into the interrogation room. Automatic light flickered on at their presence—and kept flickering ever-so-slightly. 

"Oh Potter, I’m _so_ impressed by your bravery," Malfoy said, faking high-pitched feminine tones.

"God, please shut up, or I’m going back to my office." Harry walked over to the single small table, in a vain attempt to escape Malfoy, and plopped down into one of the two chairs, which were in and of themselves torture devices. 

"Just trying to liven the atmosphere a bit. Are you always this dull?"

"Yeah, that’s me."

"Sarcasm doesn’t suit you."

"Nearly as well as idle chatter suits _you_ , Malfoy. Take a seat." Harry indicated the chair across from him.

Malfoy scowled at Harry and lowered himself into the chair, sat back and the winced. "You chose this room to torture me, didn’t you? These chairs are going to cause permanent damage to my back—or my arse."

His arse. _No, no, no_.

"I chose this room because it’s down here, where no-one in their right mind would go," Harry said. "The Wizengamot are off on hols until the new year."

Harry leant forward and rested his arms on the table. "So you didn’t need to use a Disillusionment charm?"

"Of course I did. To get down here, but I took it off once I found the room. I assumed you’d be early." Malfoy smirked, and Harry watched the way his pink mouth curled upward. "I thought you’d have learnt a thing or two about professionalism by now."

"Stop trying to distract me." Harry reached for the Veritaserum tucked inside his inner robes pocket. 

"It’s not my fault you’re so easily distracted by me."

Harry _would not_ look up to see what Malfoy’s mouth was doing now. 

Harry retrieved the bottle swiftly. The glass made a small clink as it collided with the tabletop. 

"I’m sure you remember," he said. "Three drops."

"Aren’t you supposed to read me MLE guidelines about my protection and rights, ad nauseam?" Malfoy raised his eyebrows.

"I’m supposed to, but I’m not going to bother since you went through countless interrogations after the war. If you don’t trust me, you can leave." Harry’s gaze was fierce upon Malfoy.

"Fine," Malfoy said. "But I want you to administer the drops."

Harry absorbed this. "What?"

"I thought that was Ministry protocol," Malfoy said innocently.

"You can’t be serious."

"I am." Malfoy smiled.

Harry rolled his eyes. Malfoy was doing this to embarrass him. Yanking the bottle from the table, Harry stood and went to Malfoy’s side. Malfoy glanced up at him, holding Harry’s gaze, as he tilted his head back, and his mouth opened. His long pink tongue slid from his lips – and _Christ_ , it looked obscene.

Unable to break Malfoy’s stare, Harry uncapped the lid of the bottle and squeezed the dropper three times, watching as each drop landed on Malfoy’s tongue. Harry’s temples were wet, collecting sweat.

When he was done, Malfoy kept his tongue out, as if he were waiting for an order.

Harry tried to fight his cock, but it did no good at all.

"Swallow," Harry said, hoarsely. Malfoy did just that and smiled afterward in a truly disturbing fashion.

Harry scrambled round to the other side of the table and sat down. "You seem rather happy for someone about to be interrogated."

"Let’s just say I’m sure of myself."

"Shocking," Harry said and shook his head. How the hell had he got into this? 

"Let’s start." Harry tapped his wand and murmured a spell so that it would record the proceedings.

"What’s your name?"

Malfoy opened his mouth. He tried to form words before his mouth snapped shut.

Harry smirked. "Sarcasm won’t work under Veritaserum, you know." Harry was treated to a scowl of utmost loathing. 

"Draco Malfoy." He sighed and leant back in his chair, which creaked in resistance. "Takes the fun out of everything."

"We’ll see," Harry said. He set his wand down on the table, pushed up the sleeves of his arms and folded his forearms so that they bracketed his wand. He wasn’t stupid.

When Harry looked up, Malfoy was watching him closely. Well, Malfoy could look all he wanted. Harry wasn’t going to be distracted anymore.

"One more question to be sure," Harry said. "When were you born?"

"The fifth of June, 1980," Malfoy said, enunciating each word.

Harry ignored him and nodded. He was about to finally begin the interrogation, but of course Malfoy couldn’t shut up for two seconds.

"I could be lying." Malfoy gave a slow smile that set Harry’s teeth on edge. He had to swallow down the retort, control his temper, breathe. 

"Yeah, but you’re not," Harry said and fought the urge to yank out his hair. "I checked your records before coming down. It’s a standard question."

"Oh, is it?" Malfoy narrowed his eyes.

"Yes," Harry said through his teeth, jaw set, "it is."

Malfoy smirked and opened his mouth once more, and Harry decided all at once that he wasn’t going to control his temper any longer. "I don’t know what you think you’re doing," Harry’s gaze was sharp on Malfoy’s face, "but you can shut the fuck up. You came to me practically pleading for this interrogation and so far I’ve agreed to it."

Malfoy was silent, just blinking at him.

"What's your problem? Are you _trying_ to bugger this up?" Harry was pleased he was not yelling yet. "Or just trying to waste my time?"

"I’m not here to waste your precious time," Malfoy said, then looked appalled with himself. "Fuck."

Harry’s smile was bitter. "Tell me why you're stalling," he said, without thinking and realised at the look of outrage on Malfoy’s face a second later: Malfoy would _have_ to answer.

"I—I’m—" Malfoy bit his lip and then spat, "I’m nervous," and went red.

_Nervous?_

Harry’s mouth open in shock. The light above them flickered on and off, then back on. 

"Oh shut it, Potter, and let’s get on with it," Malfoy said, sitting upright, back flat against the chair. 

Harry wanted to know _why_ Malfoy was nervous. Then again, he also wanted to know why Malfoy was living alone and what had happened to him after the war and about Astoria.

Harry folded his arms on the table and leant forward. Their gazes met and anticipation tightened in Harry’s gut. This—unlike paperwork and hosting conflict resolution sessions for new trainees and dealing with Zacharias-fucking-Smith— _this_ was at least exciting.

Harry pressed a finger to his wand to make sure he could feel the faint buzz. He could. It was recording.

"We are in the process of investigating Astoria Malfoy for the selling of lubricant and several other, uh, sexual aids. To our knowledge they’ve only been sold to Muggles and have not been introduced into the wizarding community," Harry said, holding eye contact. "As you know by now, Malfoy, over a dozen Muggles have been severely injured, especially by the heating element in the Slick n’ Easy lubricant, which has harmed some people irreparably."

"I know all this, Potter," Malfoy cut in.

Harry went on, undeterred. "When we first became aware of the pattern of injuries, some of my Aurors interviewed a few of the victims. They all identified the products as having been sold to them by a dodgy sex shop off Tottenham Court Road. We made a deal with the shop owner, and undercover Aurors took turns being stationed there. They saw Astoria selling her products to the owner." Harry sighed. "We had to come up with some crafty lies and Obliviate the owner afterwards."

"You are so dense." Malfoy rolled his eyes and folded his elbows on the table, settling his chin on his palms. "Did it ever occur to you that looks can be deceiving?"

Harry's eyes narrowed. "I'm not sure what the hell you're nattering on about now."

"Your dear Zacharias Smith is not all he seems to be."

"He's an angel in disguise?"

Malfoy snorted and promptly said: "Hell no."

"He’s been sacked, by the way," Harry said, and there was a note of strange pleasure on Malfoy’s face, but then again Malfoy _was_ strange. "Before we get into Smith, I want to establish whether or not you’re complicit in the case."

Malfoy's eyebrows rose slightly. "You’re not exactly subtle are you, Potter?"

"You’re not going to interrupt me again, or this interrogation will end," Harry said in his most authoritative voice, and surprisingly, Malfoy just stared at him and kept blissfully quiet.

Harry met Malfoy’s gaze and held it. "We’ve not established anyone as guilty in this case but Astoria is being investigated, as you well know. You’ve agreed to speak to any knowledge you have of her involvement." Harry gave time for this to sink in. "Are you willing to speak of your full knowledge about both your involvement and Astoria’s?"

"Yes," Malfoy said, in a dry tone that could have rivalled Snape.

"And are you also willing to impart any other information you have that may be relevant to this case?"

"Yes," Malfoy said, chin still on his palms, appearing utterly bored. Harry knew better.

"Good," Harry said, wanting to get this done. "Have you, Draco Malfoy, at any time, been involved in the brainstorming, planning, manufacturing, or distribution of any of the Slick n’ Easy product line or any of the other products which caused grievous injury to the Muggles?"

There was a highly amused smirk on Malfoy’s mouth, and Harry’s gut twisted. What if he’d been wrong? What if Malfoy really had done this, and Harry had been wrong to trust him? Not that he’d trusted him exactly, but Malfoy wasn’t acting like a man who was guilty.

"No."

Harry’s shoulders sagged with relief. "No?"

"Yes, Potter." Malfoy flushed. "I mean—no." He shook his head and muttered, "Bleeding Veritaserum."

Harry could have laughed, but he had to stay focussed. "Have you benefitted monetarily from any of the sales?" Harry asked, quick.

The answer was forced from Malfoy’s mouth: "No." 

The room was filled with heavy stale air, and Harry pushed his fringe off his sweaty forehead. "What do you know of Astoria’s involvement in this case?"

"Everything."

"When did you find out?" Harry asked, keeping up the break-neck speed.

Malfoy clamped his mouth shut. At first Harry thought he was being wilfully annoying, but when Malfoy's cheeks turned pink, and water began to stream down his eyes, Harry wanted to find a way to un-ask the question, ridiculous as that was. But he couldn’t undo it—couldn’t—

In a gust of breath, Malfoy spoke in a rush, words tripping over each other: "I found out about Smith and Astoria over a year ago. I learned of Smith and Astoria's plans about a month ago and have been threatening to come to the Aurors ever since." Malfoy wheezed, catching his breath. "Fuck, Potter. Have you learnt nothing? Specific questions! Not world-encompassing ones."

"Sorry," Harry muttered, looking at Malfoy's pale face. He looked all right.

"Spare me." Malfoy threw his hands on the table and caught Harry's gaze. "Stop staring and ask me questions so we get out of here sometime today."

Harry had noted a pattern of Smith coming up and he started there. "What does Smith have to do with this?"

Malfoy laughed. "I warned you to pay closer attention to your Aurors, didn't I? Smith took on this case for a very specific reason." Harry recalled Ron's mention of Smith begging for the case. At the time he'd thought Smith had been trying to curry favour. "He's the brains of the operation. He manufactured all of the potions for the ridiculous items they sold."

"That wasn't Astoria, then?" Harry asked, brow furrowed.

"No, it was Smith. I just said that. Astoria is ridiculously guidable, and Smith took advantage of her. You said your Aurors saw Astoria give the shop owner the materials, and I'm sure she did, but that was the extent of her involvement."

This was getting weirder by the moment.

"So," Harry said, thinking aloud, "Smith and your wife were hatching a plan to sell lubricate to Muggles?" It sounded absurd.

"Yes."

Absolutely absurd. Harry closed his eyes and opened them again.

"How do Astoria and Zach know each other?"

Malfoy's lip curled. "They've been fucking behind my back for a year."

"Oh," Harry said, not sure how to respond. He couldn't help but wonder if Malfoy knew about Smith being caught in flagrante delicto in the interrogation room. Then Harry remembered that Malfoy was currently being interrogated by him and that might be interpreted as a pick-up line. 

"Potter, spare me the self-righteous look. My marriage with Astoria was strictly a business deal forged between our families so that I could produce a Malfoy heir." He paused and laughed derisively. "Doesn’t seem like that’s going to happen."

"Is that why you're living apart?" Harry asked, and then felt his cheeks heat. That was not the logical next question to ask.

Malfoy raised his eyebrows. "I only found out that she was cheating on me very recently. I'm away from my home most of the time on work, and when I found out, I left." Harry had opened his mouth to speak, and Malfoy pre-empted him with a raised hand. "Smith is—shall we say—willing to sleep with anything that walks, and Astoria is an idiot. Smith convinced her that I would want to join them in a relationship."

"All, um, three of you?"

"Yes. You are insatiably nosy, Potter." Malfoy's mouth twisted a bit, and so did Harry's stomach. "Let's just say I like men and Astoria is well aware of that fact."

Malfoy examined Harry for a long time, his gaze intense upon Harry’s face. Under the scrutiny Harry felt his own cheeks burn. Malfoy smirked slightly, as if he had found something interesting there, but his voice was serious when he spoke. "To put it in laymen's terms, Potter: I'm gay."

"Gay?" Harry echoed. His mind wasn’t exactly operating on an intelligent plane at the moment. 

"Yes, Potter: _gay_." Malfoy sneered. "I know you’re the poster child for all things heterosexual, but some of us do like to be fucked up the arse. I know it’s a frightening notion to consider, Oh Prudish One, but it does happen."

"Don’t assume you know anything about whom or how I like to fuck."

There was a long silence. Harry was expecting Malfoy to say something deeply annoying or barbaric or invasive, but his face was wiped clear of any traces of emotion.

"Let’s continue," Malfoy said primly, and Harry could have fallen over with the shock of it, but he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"So you refused to join their little ménage a trios?" Harry asked, crossing one of his legs over his thigh beneath the table.

"Yes, except Astoria wanted Smith to move in, too." Malfoy wrinkled his nose. "I fucked him at Hogwarts. Awful."

Harry coughed very loudly and tried to banish the images from his mind—for more than one reason.

"In short," Malfoy said, seemingly warming up to his tale, "Smith and Astoria told me about their _business_. Smith wanted to use me to front money."

"But you refused?"

"Of course, Potter." Malfoy rolled his eyes. He then stretched out his arms and clapped his hands. "So, soon after I filed for divorce. I threatened to come to the Ministry, and Astoria has been claiming she'll pin it on me ever sense to protect _poor misunderstood Zacharias_." 

If this whole ordeal had taught Harry anything, it was that Slytherins had really, really fucked up relationships.

"So, Zach was playing everyone all along. What was his goal in making magical lube?"

"He wants to work in the sex industry eventually."

"Somehow I'm not surprised." Harry sighed. "Fuck." He pushed his glasses up his nose. "And you think Zach did this out of _career aspirations_?" 

Malfoy smirked. "That, and sex. I don't think he actually intended to harm any Muggles, but Astoria is madly in love with him, and she and I have never got along." Sighing, Malfoy stared at Harry, intent. "You have to understand I am eager to clear my name, Potter. The Ministry could take this case and throw me into Azkaban for life."

"Yeah," Harry said and couldn't help asking, "So you're divorcing Astoria?"

"Of course. After this shit, I've had enough. If I need a son badly enough, I'll find another woman." Malfoy smiled, a touch warm, even. "Or maybe I won't."

"Or maybe you'll just stick to men—just not Zacharias Smith," Harry said, smiling slightly, and he had no idea why—and then he realised he was smiling at Malfoy and Malfoy was smiling back at him—that slow sensual smile that looked genuine, all teeth—and _fuck_.

"That concludes the interrogation," Harry said, and touched his fingers to his wand and said, " _Finite Incantantem._ The wand buzzed briefly.

"That’s it, then," Harry said and he stretched back, holding his arms out, and closed his eyes, groaning as some of the tension in his muscles bled out.

When he opened his eyes again to tell Malfoy—well, something—he found Malfoy staring at him.

"We’re not done yet," Malfoy said quietly.

"Uh, we’re not?"

"No," Malfoy said, smoothing out his robes with his long pale fingers. Then he tilted his face up and looked at Harry very much like a predator might their prey.

Torn between the urge to stay under Malfoy’s gaze for an indefinite amount of time or fleeing, Harry settled on the latter. "C’mon, Malfoy, it’s been a long day," Harry said, and made the pretence to rise.

With amazing reflexes Malfoy snatched out his hand, pinned Harry’s wrist to the table and pulled so that Harry was on the edge of his seat. He had to stretch out so that his arm didn’t jerk out of its socket.

"What the _fuck_?"

Grey eyes fierce on Harry’s face, Malfoy’s fingers tightened on his wrist. Malfoy leant up so that his face was very close to Harry’s. His hot breath hit Harry’s cheek when he spoke.

"I want to know what you meant earlier. When you said that I knew nothing of who you wanted to fuck."

Looking at Malfoy’s grey eyes, his long eyelashes, his stupid pointy chin, the hair falling into his prattish face, Harry knew—and Harry knew that Malfoy knew.

"What about it?" Harry asked, a touch haughty.

"Don’t play coy with me, Potter," Malfoy said, smirked, and tilted his head. Then, fuck, Malfoy’s breath was on his ear and he whispered, "I know you want to fuck me, Potter."

With all his effort, Harry jerked his head back. "It’s true that I like to fuck men." Malfoy’s mouth opened. "… _and_ women." Harry paused. "Why would I even want to fuck _you_?" Harry asked, even though his cock was hardening in his trousers, and his breath was coming a bit fast. He wanted to feel Malfoy’s fingers bruising around his wrist, wanted them snug and tight—wanted Malfoy’s fingers tight and rough, dry and raw, jerking his cock.

Malfoy’s grip on his wrist did tighten and Harry’s cock thickened, a needy throb of _something_ trapped in him, wanting out. Now. "Because I don’t care who you are." Malfoy said, licked his lips, and Harry’s gaze fell to his mouth. 

_The Veritaserum_ , Harry realised, and waited for Malfoy to be outraged, but it didn’t come.

"Oh no, Potter," he said. "I’ve known for some time I’ve wanted you to fuck me. That doesn’t mean I have to worship the bloody ground you walk on."

"I would never fuck someone who is such an arsehole," Harry said, knowing that his arguments were lagging in vitriol and effectiveness. By Malfoy’s look of satisfaction, he knew it, too. Bastard.

Malfoy leant in again, this time with his cheek pressing hot and soft to Harry’s. His cheekbone dug in to the sensitive skin below Harry’s eye. It was shockingly intimate, and Harry wanted to pull away, but Malfoy dragged him by his wrist, and Harry was forced to put a knee on the table. 

"You want me, Potter. I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at me." Malfoy grazed Harry’s ear with his teeth. Harry shuddered, cock past hard, and he needed to get off _now_.

"And how have I been looking at you?" Harry asked, gasping when Malfoy’s tongue flicked along his ear. 

"Like you wanted me to get down on my knees and take your cock down my throat."

"Fuck," Harry said, unable to stop his thoughts from racing ahead and providing in graphic detail images of Malfoy’s soft mouth stretched out around his cock.

"You want to fuck my mouth, Potter?" Malfoy asked in a soft voice, and Harry couldn’t help it—he groaned.

"Yeah, you like that." Malfoy bit his ear, and pulled away, cheeks flushed.

"Yeah," Harry said, supposing it was probably fairly obvious at this point.

"Tell me to get on my knees," Malfoy said, releasing Harry’s wrist, and Harry almost lost his balance, as he was leaning halfway across the fucking table.

" _Here_?"

"Yes, here. Unless you’d rather do it in the Atrium so that Shacklebolt can wander along and catch us at it?"

"God, shut up."

"Make me," Malfoy said, smiling. When Harry said nothing, he rolled his eyes. "Haven’t you ever been dominant for a day in your life, Potter? Must I give you a lesson?"

"Maybe," Harry hedged.

"Tell me to get on my knees, unless you’re too afraid."

Harry'd had about enough of Malfoy’s sarcasm for one night. He strode away from the table and yanked his Auror robes over his head in one swift movement—except that they caught on his glasses. He cursed and brought his other hand up to help, and pulled at his robes until they came clear over his head, and he dropped them to the floor. 

Malfoy was rooted to the spot, watching Harry with dark eyes. And Harry could just imagine himself: standing there with his hair standing on end, glasses askew on his nose, plain white t-shirt and khaki trousers.

"On your knees, Malfoy," Harry said, "Now."

Without saying anything, Malfoy walked over to Harry slowly, fell to his knees and looked up at Harry. Harry had never imagined Draco Malfoy on his knees—okay, except for a few times recently—but fuck, it was hot.

"You want me to take out your cock?" Malfoy asked. 

"Yeah," Harry said, hoarse.

Malfoy’s hands scrambled for Harry’s trousers, and he unzipped the fly. Harry’s trousers fell down to his knees, but he didn’t give a shit about getting them all the way off.

Harry looked down and saw his own cock straining his black pants. Malfoy was staring at it with his mouth slightly open, his tongue poking out a bit. Harry made a small noise.

Malfoy looked up and said, "I was going to make you beg for it, Potter, but I—" he was breathing heavily "—I can’t—" And then — _oh fuck_ —his mouth was hot and open and then sucking over the head of Harry's cock, through his pants, and Harry didn’t give a fuck what Malfoy couldn’t do, just so long as he kept doing _that_.

Mouthing around Harry’s cock, nipping it, Malfoy groaned and mumbled something that sounded like _off_ , and pulled down Harry’s pants too fast, careless. They got caught on Harry’s prick, but it was all right once they were down his thighs, and his cock was resting thick against his lower abdomen.

"Your—"

"Yeah?"

Malfoy answered by circling his fingers around the base of Harry’s cock and dipping his pink tongue into the slit of the head, and his tongue came away shiny. He smirked at Harry, mouth gleaming, and licked his lips, before leaning forward and licking slowly around the head, with fingers supplying a strong pressure at the base. Harry moaned, already wanting to come, to feel Malfoy’s hot mouth all around his hard prick, swallowing and taking it. 

When Malfoy licked one line all the way up the length of his cock, Harry fumbled for something to hold onto, and found Malfoy’s hair. He dug his fingers into Malfoy’s scalp, not caring, wanting _more_. Malfoy made a pleased sound and took the head into his hot mouth.

"Fuck," Harry said, and Malfoy smirked, taking Harry in deeper, towards the back of his mouth, shifting his head, and letting Harry’s cock trial along the soft skin of his cheeks. Malfoy’s hand found Harry’s balls and squeezed with a gentle pressure. 

Harry wanted more—wanted—

"Get yourself off," he choked out. "While you’re—"

"While I’m what, Potter," Malfoy asked, hoarse. His eyes were glittering.

"Fuck." Harry gasped. "While you’re sucking my fucking cock, all right?"

Malfoy reached under his robes, and Harry wasn’t surprised to see he was only wearing pants underneath. He yanked them down and Harry only got a brief glimpse of his long pink cock before Malfoy wrapped his fist around it and started jerking it with rough strokes. His robes fell back down over his hand, but Harry could see Malfoy’s fist moving underneath, could hear Malfoy’s little gasps and moans.

"Your throat," Harry said, and Malfoy grabbed Harry’s arse with one hand, forcing Harry forward. His cock was in Malfoy’s face and then taken into Malfoy’s mouth. He didn’t think Malfoy could take it all, but more and more disappeared between Malfoy’s red, fucked-open lips and Harry groaned low when his cock hit the back of Malfoy’s throat. _Oh fuck_ , Harry knew he was going to come any moment just like this, all stuffed into Malfoy’s mouth, nudging his throat.

Malfoy’s moans grew more high-pitched. Harry closed his heads, tilted his head back, and felt Malfoy’s fingers sliding between the crack of his arse. He was a second away from coming, and heard Malfoy gasping and choking for breathe. Harry tightened his hold on Malfoy’s hair and _pulled_ Malfoy further onto him, fucking his throat, and Malfoy relaxed his throat fully, taking him even deeper, and Harry gasped, feeling it deep in his bones seconds before it happened. The pleasure opened out and he came hard as Malfoy sputtered—came down Malfoy’s throat in long hard spurts until his muscles were lax. He was left, gasping and weak-kneed, and rather fortunate, really, to still be standing.

Malfoy backed off his cock with a truly obscene noise, and he started licking, cleaning Harry up with little swipes of his tongue.

"Fuck," Harry said.

Malfoy smiled with his dirty pink mouth.

"Did you—?"

"Yeah," Malfoy said, and his voice was barely audible, husky. "While you had your cock rammed down my throat."

Harry knew he was blushing ten shades of red. "Um, I’m sorry about that," Harry said, and looked down, discovering that his limp cock was hanging out in front of Malfoy’s face; it seemed much weirder like this, so he backed off and started tucking himself into his pants and doing up his trousers.

Malfoy seemed to take this as a signal, because he levered himself off the floor with a groan. He lowered his robes, smoothing them out, but the front of them were stained. Harry wanted to laugh but knew better.

"Here," Harry said, and retrieved his wand from the table and cleaned Malfoy’s robes with a thorough _Scourgify_.

Malfoy nodded his thanks but otherwise said nothing. Harry decided Malfoy might be tired or quite embarrassed from giving his former—or maybe current?—enemy a truly obscene blowjob and coming from it like a teenager.

Harry still felt weak-kneed and unsure of what to do. Even after he’d pulled on his robes and cast a Cleaning charm on himself for the hell of it, Malfoy had said nothing.

"Would—" Harry started to say, unsure of what would come out but very sure it might be something dangerously like, _Would you like to get dinner with me?_

But Malfoy interrupted before he could embarrass himself. When Harry looked up he saw Malfoy’s face was inscrutable. "Will you owl me and let me know of your decision regarding Astoria and Zacharias?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "I will."

Malfoy nodded once more and turned to…walk out of the room?

"Are you leaving?" Harry asked.

"Yes, Potter," he drawled. "Did you expect me to stay, perhaps? Engage in a bit of post-interrogation pillowtalk?"

That hit Harry the wrong way. His chest tightened and he wanted to go for his wand and hex Malfoy. And he wanted to push him against the wall and kiss— _no_.

"No, you arse," he said.

Malfoy smirked. "Don't get so riled up. Occasionally, I jest."

Smiling, Harry was opening his mouth, searching for something to say. Maybe he waited too long because Malfoy took one long look at his face and said clinically, "Thanks for that, Potter." 

And after that, he was gone. 

The light above flickered off and on and then died.

*

Several days later, Harry was in his office trying to clear his mind of Malfoy-induced fantasies. He’d had a headache all morning, and he couldn’t seem to get images of Malfoy out of his mind. It was like being haunted. Only worse. 

He’d give anything—or, well, quite a lot—for Malfoy to come barging into his office, but sadly, there were no sudden intrusions.

There was Kingsley, though, who did deign to knock. Just like his voice, Kingsley’s knock was very loud. Only Kingsley had a knock with that much authority.

Harry sat up straight in his chair and tried to look as if he’d been busy working on something.

"Come in!"

Kingsley stepped in, greeted Harry with a firm nod and shut the door behind him. He took a seat in the chair across from Harry.

"So," he said.

"So," Harry said, leaning back in his chair.

"I have thought about your recommendations for the Malfoy case."

"Yeah?"

Kingsley smiled, as if he knew something, likely something Harry didn’t want him to know. "Draco Malfoy is clean and has been sent an owl saying such and thanking him for his assistance. Smith is to pay a hefty fine of 25,000 Galleons, which will serve as reparations to the families on behalf of the injured, and I'm calling him in for a talk. Astoria Malfoy will pay 5,000 Galleons."

It all sank in, and then Harry smiled. 

"Is that satisfactory, Harry?"

"Very well. Thank you, sir."

Kingsley reached across, shook his head and gave Harry one last long look before leaving the office.

*

It was stupid for Harry to be here in the first place—an insane bout of wishful thinking.

He was back in the Muggle pub Malfoy had accosted him at the previous weekend, and Harry was again on his fourth pint. The end of the bar was vacant except for himself, and the low chatter of people resonated around him, not loud but enough to fill the space with noise. A fireplace burnt in the back and again snowflakes were falling. Instead of being cosy, however, it was rather lonely, and worse: Harry knew why.

Malfoy had never responded to any of his owls—the original one telling him what he’d decided to do about the case, nor the second terse owl Harry had sent, congratulating Malfoy on being cleared. It was obvious Malfoy wanted nothing to do with him, and Harry would be better off to go to his flat and stop moping.

Someone plopped down on the stool next to him.

There was no way he was going to contact Harry again. He hated Harry, and Harry—well. Had thought he hated him.

"Potter."

But fuck. Harry ran his fingers through his hair, burying his forehead in his hands. He couldn’t stop thinking about Malfoy’s stupid face and his stupid sarcasm and his stupid smile.

" _Potter_ ," someone said and grabbed his wrist, and Harry jerked, turned and stared at Malfoy, who was sitting beside him.

"Malfoy?"

"No, Potter. I’m Jesus Christ." Malfoy let go of his wrist.

For some reason, Harry laughed and broke out into a wide grin that Malfoy eyed sceptically.

"You’re pathetic," he said, but there was a hint of a smile around his mouth as he ordered the barkeep over—again with enviable skill—and ordered two scotches.

"You don’t have to buy me a drink," Harry said.

"It's not some gesture of good will," Malfoy said with a shrug and a small smile. "You need to acquire some taste."

They shared a sidelong glance. And that was that, apparently.

Malfoy turned to Harry. "Astoria’s moved out of the Manor now. She’s going to move in with Smith."

"Ah," Harry said. "Are you back at the Manor, then?" he asked, and he found he couldn’t stop _staring_.

Their scotch arrived, and Malfoy pushed Harry’s over to him before taking a dainty sip himself. Harry hid a smile.

"If you _must_ know," Malfoy said, but his tone was light, "I’m living in central London."

"Oh," Harry said.

There was a moment of silence, and then Malfoy sighed and turned to Harry.

"You want to ask me out," he said, looking as if this pained him to say.

Harry wanted to deny it, but found that he didn’t have the heart to do so.

"Yeah," he said, even though he knew it was never going to happen. He stared into his scotch.

"For fuck’s sake," Malfoy said. "Stop looking so forlorn. I’m here, aren’t I?"

Harry looked up and studied Malfoy—his intent gaze, the soft frown of mouth, the line between his brows.

"Yeah," Harry said, soft. "You are."

More silence.

"Do I always have to give instructions?" Malfoy asked, rolling his eyes. "Ask me out, idiot." Malfoy took a long gulp of scotch, his throat working, and Harry couldn’t look away.

"Um," Harry said. "Do you want to go out with me tomorrow night?"

"Fuck that," Malfoy said, offering Harry a bright smile. "I thought we could go back to your place now. I say you owe me a favour."

"Oh," Harry said, drank down his scotch.

"You idiot," Malfoy said, rolling his eyes. "We can go out tomorrow night, too."

"Yeah?" Harry asked, surprised.

"We mustn’t get too eager," Malfoy said, but the look he turned on Harry was fond. 

That was good enough for Harry.

*

"I still can’t believe it," Ron moaned, putting his face in his hands. His mourning was so severe that he wasn’t eating.

"Ron, it could be worse," Hermione said, using her fork to punctuate her point—or maybe it was a stabbing motion. "At least Harry is not dating Zacharias Smith."

" _Ugh_ ," Ron said into his folded arms.

"Er," Harry said.

Ron lifted his head slowly. "You’re not, are you?"

"No!" Harry said, "But, uh, Draco might have dated him." He paused. "Without actually dating—just the fringe benefits."

Hermione connected the dots and said, very succinctly: "Ew."

"I want to die," Ron pronounced before burying his face into his arms again. "Malfoy. And Smith."

"I quite agree," Harry said. It’d not been a pleasant epiphany, but everyone dated arseholes from time-to-time. 

Hermione finally started cutting her steak. "So, how’d you two get together?"

"Uhm, Hermione, I think that might be best left private," Harry said, but Ron—somehow—knew some things before Hermione. Just occasionally.

"Oh, no, you didn’t." 

Harry knew he looked guilty.

"Not in the interrogation room. Please tell me it’s not true."

"Harry!" Hermione said, but there was a smile on her face, all the same. Maybe she was kinkier than Harry had imagined. Then he stopped thinking about ‘kinky’ and Hermione in the same sentence.

"I don’t kiss and tell?" Harry said, grinning.

Ron moaned again. "More like fuck and tell," he said under his breath.

"We did not fuck," Harry said, and then wondered why he’d just said that. What happened to his ability to hold his tongue?

Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"Well, not completely fuck," Harry said, sinking into his seat.

"You _halfway_ fucked?" Ron asked. "I should have known that pointy ferret couldn’t—"

"Well, whether you and Malfoy had sex or not, Harry," Hermione said loudly, "I have a surprise for you."

Ron and Harry both turned toward her. There was no birthday or holiday to commemorate, after all.

"I’ve been mastering the spell for the lubricant that Smith had been working on, and I fixed it!" Harry had no idea how she had acquired such sensitive information, but he guessed Ron might have had a hand in it. From somewhere below the table—Harry didn’t care to know where—Hermione produced a squishy-looking bright bottle of clear oozy liquid that read in curling print "Slick n’ Easy."

"It goes on nice and tingly. The warming sensation is quite nice."

"Uhm," Harry said. "Thanks?"

Ron was looking at Hermione with interest. "And who’ve you been testing this on?"

She rolled her eyes. "Myself, Ron. Who else?" She reached out and slid the bottle towards Harry. "Here."

"Can we give Malfoy the old stuff?" Ron asked, a wicked gleam in his eye.

"No, we aren’t going to burn off any of Draco’s finer appendages," Hermione said. "Isn’t that right, Harry?"

"Oh fuck. I’m going to off myself. Right now." Ron’s ears were bright red, and Harry grinned.

"Right. I plan to make very good use of them," Harry said. Hermione made a sound of delight, and Ron groaned something about "perverts."

Harry supposed he couldn’t argue with that and tucked the lubricant into his pocket. Maybe he had something to thank Astoria Malfoy for, after all.

~fin


End file.
